


Misery's Companion

by alilbitofmorgjii



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Cutting, Depression, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28543647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alilbitofmorgjii/pseuds/alilbitofmorgjii
Summary: The Earl's desolation consumes him
Kudos: 14





	Misery's Companion

**Author's Note:**

> Before reading, I advise you look over the tags, as they can be extremely triggering to individuals: this is your warning.  
> Considering Ciel's past trauma, I wanted to write a piece about his sorrow and inability to completely express any emotion without the feeling of everlasting pain. This idea came to me while I was listening to a song called "Tolerance" by Monsoonsiren the other day, and I wanted to put it on paper (or I suppose a document). Writing is a part of my small handful of healthy coping methods, and I wanted to share this as an outlet and to those who also use words as an escape from moments of suffering.

The infamous Phantomhive mansion stands on the outskirts of London, engulfed in the darkness that only the dead of the night could produce, delivering its slumber spell upon everyone within the household. This particular evening was unusually dark due to the absence of the gloaming moon shrouded by thick clouds that hung in the sky. 

There isn't a candle aflame within the manor's study to imperceptibly illuminate the room around him, for the Earl needs no light on this occasion. Beside his open windowsill, Ciel grips the ruby-stoned hilt of a dagger tightly in his right hand. Soundlessly, the young teen presses the sharp blade to the inside of his left arm and cuts deep. Blood runs from his previous cuts, running down his porcelain skin to his elbow and silently dripping on the carpet underneath him. 

While there is a discomfort, a painful burn, a sting, Ciel decides that it is not yet enough to make him forget the eternal ache in his chest as his lungs seize. There are no tears that fall from his cerulean eyes. Perhaps they have forgotten how to create them. The boy looks mindlessly upon his wounds. He can almost hear his nightmarish cries of agony as he lay there, bound and helpless, longing for the torturous pain of his abuse to end just as much as he does currently. 

A fifth cut splits the thin flesh, and for the first time this evening, his hand trembles the slightest bit, marring the straight line on his small arm. Ciel begins to feel lightheaded, unreal, detached: disconnected from the painful memories. 

The Earl wishes he would fall dead: frankly any prolonged break would be better than this horrid existence.  
Being the queen's watchdog comes with the price of a substantial workload, which renders a distraction for Ciel: it just enough to busy his mind from his thoughts. Nevertheless, when the silence of the night encloses around him, he has only mind for misery's company, serving as it's a faithful companion. Ciel is a hollowed husk of a boy, and he supposes he is quite a mad one at that, but the pain throbbing in his arm and the crimson droplets of his blood feel more real than anything else. 

Ciel pays no attention when the dagger slips from his weakening fingers- who could blame him for his heedlessness in such times! The Earl's body crumples to the floor, his hands much too weak to support himself now. 

Where was Sebastian?

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh. Awful writers block, sorry for crap content. I didn't know how to end this.


End file.
